A Game Of Chance
by ASDFers
Summary: The storyteller has a tale to tell you. About a young boy and his encounter with a game of luck and chance.


Another one-shot made out of complete boredom. It became a tad too long, though...but I'm quite alright with it.

My whim is too powerful to handle...

This is a dedication to the cards laying on my room's floor: scattered and painted with pictures, and illusions.

And please, do not say anything to Shyion or MizzE. Except if they know about this. I'm abusing our posting rights, here...

Disclaimer: Never will I own _-Man_. Because Hoshino Katsura owns.

* * *

_**A Game Of Chance**_

_**By Aleviene**_

_**Yet again, no beta.  
**_

* * *

Call.

Oh, I see you've lost again.

Well. I can't say that you're the best player in this world. But no one has _that_ much luck to win every single time, don't you think?

I'm not implying that you're _that _bad at this. Maybe you do. Lady Luck loves to play with everyone.

I remember this boy who didn't even _need_ Lady Luck to be the best.

Curious, are you?

If you truly want to hear his story of money, luck, dignity, love, utter hatred, and the dark side, then I will try to tell you. But you owe me another game, alright?

It all began on a silent night…which is not exactly silent at all…

* * *

"My father's going to kill me if he finds out…"

"You don't _have_ a father."

The midnight clouds dispersed, revealing a bloody moon: red in comparison to the bright white stars. Underneath was a vast townscape, covered in bricks and wooden structures.

Everything was silent, except for the breathing of two people. One was an adolescent boy, which was not _that_ adolescent, but neither was he mature; for he knew nothing about gambling and drinking and what the fair sex was like. His hair was blindingly white: even whiter than the oldest man or woman you could possibly imagine. A long, red scar was embedded from the left side of his forehead to the lower jawbone; at the top was the shape of a reversed pentacle. He hid it beneath his perfect falling bangs.

The other was a man, not exactly young, but not exactly old, either. Simply put, he was strange, annoying, rude, and perverted; according to his companion and a few other handfuls of people. A heavy smoker, a heavy drinker, and a womanizer were the top three things that best described him. To top it all off, his fiery red hair, white mask, and ominous height added to his mysterious demeanour.

Not one single person knew why they were standing outside the door to a crowded pub like two idiots. Only those two knew their predicament, for they have been standing there, bickering about whether to move forward or to stay put.

"No! I said no!" The boy stood his ground; not a single thing could seem to move him.

"Shut up, boy, and get in." Cigarette poised in hand, he threatened the younger boy to get up or get burnt.

The child hesitated before stating a loud and clear "NO!"

The smaller of the two kicked the elder's knee unsuccessfully; he jumped up in pain. Never kick the knee, he had remembered an insignificant street phrase, but it was too late, _far_ too late.

His act was just piled up in a large heap of anger. And that pile had just reached its limit.

With a clean kick, the boy was sent sprawling in the noisy building, headfirst and feet last. He fell with a thud on the floor and moaned, feeling as if a storm had hit his head dead on.

"That's what you get for disobeying my orders."

This man was cross. And that described him a hundred percent, for that was also his name. Yes, Cross Marian, General, and Exorcist, anything but nice. The boy was, in fact, a _thing_, a burden that the man 'picked up' from one of his journeys; Allen Walker, a lovely boy, a tad too small for someone his age (the man was never sure how old he was) but nevertheless, cute.

Now, these two were definitely _not_ father and son. Neither did they want to be like that. The first time that Allen tried to call Cross 'father' resulted in a very serious beating. Then again, it was the last time he ever tried it out.

A veil of smoke covered the whole area, hovering low and high, back and forth through the small gaps and the swinging doors. Stares and giggles were directed at the two newcomers. Who were these people, they whispered to each other carefully; they hid their faces and comments behind the ever going activities, unable to look straight into the duo's face.

"So, what'll you have?" Addressing them awkwardly was a burly man; curly black hair adorned his head and chin; his height was a bit less than the red-head, but nevertheless large.

"Some Vodka; and this brat will have-"

"NO! I don't want to!" The boy flailed around madly; oblivious of the odd stares he got from the men and women…prostitutes, to be exact. "What is this place!? I don't like it here!"

A young woman in her mid-twenties, attractive as she is, sauntered across the crowded floor and tapped the annoyed man's shoulder. He turned around and whistled.

_Nice body you've got there…pretty, too…_

"Excuse me, Mister, but I think your kid might not like it here."

Well, duh_._

"Ah, damn. A hot girl like you saying that?" The man grinned lustfully and encircled his arm around the woman's shoulders. "You know what they say: the younger they are, the faster they learn-"

SLAP-

That was one of the many times the red-head has been slapped by a woman. Be it by harassment, disgust, or just plain perverting, he had experienced, _literally_, many women. And that was just one of his many exploits.

"Don't you _dare_ touch me!" She shook her head and looked at the young boy pitifully. She approached him gently, patted his tiny head, and smiled at him warmly. "Poor thing…"

_Oh, now I'M the bad guy?_

And just as simple as that, Allen attracted unwanted attention (of course, only Cross thought that), as he was the only child in that adult place, and a very adorable-looking one, at that. His smile could melt even the coldest of hearts, and everyone (even some of the men) was eager to make him happy, just to see that radiant smile of his.

"Oh, he's so cute!"

"Look at his hair! It's so white!"

"Have you ever seen a face _that_ adorable?"

Oh yes, this made Cross angrier and angrier. He had been a good man: doing his job of killing Akumas, searching for Innocence, even willing to training a brat to become a fully-capable Exorcist. Had he no taught him the ways of exorcism? It had only been, what, a few months? The boy had absolutely no right to take _his_ right.

"We're leaving." Cross yanked the boy's collar up, and he yelped. The other adults were shouting out protests and jeers, saying that he was too mean to him and all that. One person even called him a 'bad father', in which Cross replied with a glare and a sharp punch in his guts.

_Damn…this kid's better than I thought._

* * *

So, you must be thinking by now: what's the connection between _this_ story and a pack of cards? When a small incident comes into the whole picture: that's where the link would be seen.

* * *

After a failed attempt to get into one pub, Cross literally dragged poor Allen to another pub. This time, he wouldn't make any mistakes.

This time, his apprentice would stay outside. Who cares if he froze or got sick? All that mattered was booze, women, and more women if possible.

So whilst Cross was busy playing with the ladies, Allen was standing outside in the cold night air: desperately wanting to go indoors, but at the same time fearing what his master might do.

Singing his favourite song; the one that his foster father taught him was one of the many things he'd do at these times of loneliness. That is, until Cross told him to stop singing because it was pissing him off; listening to the boy was a sign that he was only metres away, and that wasn't a good sign.

"Do something more productive, not sit on your butt and whine all day."

"I was not whining! I was singing!"

"I bet your whine would sound much better."

This was, in fact, untrue. Being the kind of stubborn and irritating man he is, Cross would never ever admit that he secretly enjoyed the song, even in a million years. Just for safety (what if he's immortal?), he added _"until the day I die"_. It reminded him of one of his acquaintances: the brother of the boy's foster father. Of course, he'd never tell the boy that he actually knew his foster father's family, would he?

On the next night, Allen would surely be well bored to death, as he couldn't do anything productive or exciting at all. He tried to sleep, but to no avail, as the air was chillier than he'd thought it would be. Subtle signs of snow were beginning to fall to the ground.

"I'll be dead with this man before I know it…" Allen sighed heavily and drew some random who-knows-what pictures of the devil incarnate Cross Marian on the white snow. And he was jabbing one of his pictures with a stick while chuckling evilly. Who knew that a boy like him could have such a devilish face?

Meanwhile, the General was encountering some very large problems…

---

At the time Allen was freezing to a state of fatality, Cross finished several dozens of expensive red wine and even more cigarettes. A woman in each hand (and a couple more surrounding him), he was in heaven, as he usually was every night.

That is, until he saw five men dressed in formal suits striding inside, each of them carrying dangerous-looking weapons. The General only had to steal a glance at them before swearing loud enough for the women to hear and abandoning his happy-time.

"Those bastards never stop…" With a single flick of his right hand, the cigarette he held dearly between his index and middle finger flew out of his hands onto the cold floor. He quickly weaved his way past the women who called out seductive words, several goodbyes, and exposed their, let's say 'outer beauty' (He'd probably be thinking, "Damn, why did this have to happen _now_?") and the men who were either drunkards or gamblers.

Just as he was about to increase his pace after reaching the entrance, the ones he dubbed as 'bastards' showed up behind him. Yes, he could sense them, all right, thanks to his perfectly-honed radar for picking up annoying people that pissed him off to the nth degree of pissed-offness. Even if such a word never existed.

In short, debt collectors.

"Why, Sir, I haven't seen you since…five years ago?" A thick moustached man rubbed his chin and grinned like a child who was an inch close to getting his favourite candy.

"It seems so, eh?" Cross grinned back with a new cigarette stuck in his mouth. He had to lose them, no matter what. There was no way in hell that he'd cough up his hard-earned, honest money. But he was never an honest and hard-working man to begin with. To put it simply, in other words: he was broke.

Oh, sure the Order heard and obeyed his every whim, but after a few years of disappearing, presumed dead, and many other gossi- I mean, rational _possibilities_, they stopped channelling money to the anonymous account that they _presumed_ was the General's. In fact, it wasn't his: it was one of his lovers' account, which the woman didn't even knew she had. Yes, Cross was one hell of a sneaky ladies' man.

…That's another completely different story.

Anyway. Where was I? Oh, right. Cross blew a thick veil of smoke and made a mocking smirk more than an evil- uh, _sincere_, grin. "What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?"

"Oh, nothing really." Another man stepped in front: a large bloke that carried what seemed to be, an extremely large sword, or an extremely short building. Except that buildings were made out of wood and bricks instead of pure metal. "Do you remember my comrade?"

"Never seen him in my entire life. But it was a pleasure to meet you." Not.

Suddenly, Cross felt a red liquid trickle down from his left cheek. He touched it with a finger and felt it. _Blood._

The first man held up a gun and blew its tip calmly. "Have you forgotten our deal?"

Cross wanted oh-so-much to grab his gun, Judgement, and blow the five men's heads off. Too bad his better side took control. All he did was beat the guys to a pulp, while avoiding all their attacks, of course. He was, after all, a high-ranked Exorcist who was trained for…certain situations.

"Damn, it's already morning." He was about to stroll calmly away, when he saw signs of other people bearing the same style as the ones he battered approaching. This time, he couldn't run. Or maybe he could, but at the cost of attracting attention and perhaps, alerting the Order about his presence. No, he couldn't afford to lose all the hard work of avoiding every single Order-attracting location in the damned world.

"Give us the money, bastard."

_Wait, weren't _they_ the bastards before?_ He thought quickly before mentally slapping his forehead. _What now?_

A tiny voice chirped out in the midst of all the action. "Master? What are you doing?"

* * *

Maybe we should stop now. It's getting kind of dull, is it? You hear yet another story of misfortune and luck, and so on and so on.

Or do you like repetition? Oh, no matter. This is, after all, just a story. So I will continue, whether you like it or not.

And you still owe me that game.

* * *

Little Allen got up from his deep sleep and encountered several men in black (not the ones you know of) and a familiar red tuft of hair. He scratched his head and rubbed his eyes a few times before getting a look at the scene unravelling in front of his silvery eyes.

Five people lay dead- wait, scratch that, just unconscious and severely injured, on the snowy ground. The red-head, his Master, was frowning with annoyance to a certain spot. Allen followed the gaze towards a least a dozen armed men and gaped.

His foolish and wants-to-know-it-all mouth _had_ to say something.

"Master? What are you doing?"

---

If light bulbs could fly, I'd say that Cross had a glowing one hovering above his head right now. He flashed a grin towards the boy staring at him and smirked. Oh, yes, Lady Luck was particularly cheeky today.

"Gentlemen, I have a solution to your predicaments." With an empty hand (his gun was still there, you know), he hoisted the boy up by his right arm and threw him roughly towards the speechless pack of assailants.

All the while, poor Allen just stared and stood there awkwardly, as a few dozen pairs of eyes probed every single part of his petite figure.

"My…" He ignored the uneasy feeling on the tip of his tongue and continued. "Apprentice, will pay for the fees you requested."

_Am I being too formal for these bastards? Ah, who cares? As long as I get out of this mess._

"Don't trust this bastard!" A man pointed at the nervous boy with his gun, which made Allen squeak out of fear. "That brat is just a street urchin!"

And yet again, Allen's mouth _had_ to defend his pride.

"WHO'RE YOU CALLING 'STREET URCHIN'!? I AM NOT THAT SHORT!!!"

"You bastards think he's a street urchin?" Oh, I wish he was one; then I wouldn't have to take him in my…_custody_, Cross thought to himself before resuming. "I have an important appointment with a friend of mine." Lady 'friend', he added silently. "Anything you want, go and ask that brat."

Those were his last words before exiting the scene.

---

And so, dear Allen had three choices: either work like hell until he could pay the money, find some other way to pay up, or chase Cross and complain. He was sure that he'd die if he took the latter choice. Scrap the third one.

He was definitely facing the turning point of his few years of life: where no one treated him like a child anymore, but rather, as a little delinquent.

Oh, wait; that happened when he met Cross.

"So, kid, pay up."

"Huh?"

"Spit out the damn money that the bastard owes us!"

"I don't have any!"

Whether it was by luck or by pity from that significant someone up there, Allen managed to receive a three-day limit of clearing up the debt. The group of men stormed away, weapons retracted and faces sour.

Time was of essence. And for Allen Walker, it was for his life.

* * *

I see you've been itching to know what this all had to do with the main point. But don't worry: this boy's just not having his day. Or rather, days.

Let me continue…

* * *

"Do you have any job for me?" Little Allen pleaded with all of his heart, even setting aside his dignity and other trivial things. Unfortunately for him, no one wanted to hire a small and peculiar boy who just happened to be in one serious problem.

Where was Cross, you ask? Oh, he's somewhere in this country, that's for sure. He couldn't abandon his Apprentice. Definitely not out of love, but out of his duty as an Exorcist, even if he _did_ went AWOL. He has a life too, you know.

Just as Allen was about to give up forever, a tall man approached him and smiled sweetly. He had a strange aura around him, which made the smaller boy flinch.

One good thing that he was taught by someone was never to trust anyone that smiled like that on a first encounter.

"I heard you were looking for a job." He took the boy's hand carefully and shook it. "I can offer you one, if you want."

A cog in Allen's mind clicked, and he stopped flinching. With great excitement, he stared at the man and made an attempt to grasp his collar. "You're not lying, are you? You'll really give me a job!?"

He nodded awkwardly after taking in the fact that a mere _child_ managed to take his collar and pull him down. "O-of course. All you have to do is drink this." He held a small phial and gave it to the boy, who accepted it at once.

Lesson Two: never accept anything from strangers. Well, that lesson was flunked. Which gave way to Lesson Three: never eat, drink, or consume anything that you don't know what it was.

Good thing that Allen was still smart, just enough to realize that this man was bad news.

"No."

"Oh, come on now, just a tiny sip-"

"No."

"Do you want the job or not-"

"Ngh- no."

The man cracked and took hold of Allen's shirt. "Listen, you damn brat, I'm gonna sell ya whether ya like it or not-"

Stab- (don't worry, no sharp items involved)

Two small fingers made their way into the man's eyes. An extremely annoyed Allen flailed madly and managed to escape from the adult's clutches. He stuck out his tongue before picking up his feet and running away.

Until the man grabbed his shoulder.

"You son of a- " He didn't get to finish his statement, as a large, white claw appeared in front of his eyes.

"You were saying?" Yes, the boy almost snapped. But not yet. It was still too early for it.

If I recall correctly, one of these possibilities occurred: Allen gave the person a thorough beating; let him go with something a bit more powerful than a warning; or made sure he would never attempt to lay a single finger on him ever again. Either way, it was his…153rd failure to obtain a decent occupation, I think.

He made a mental note to scratch out the first choice. There was no way he could do it.

Absentmindedly, he looked up to the sky. Night had visited the world once again. That meant he had only 2 days and 3 nights to get the amount stated on the piece of paper he saw.

Oh, he remembered clearly, the number of zeros that came behind a simple digit. It was not a pretty sight.

"I know that I should keep moving forward, but how am I supposed to do that now!?" Within that tiny body was immense power, in this case, voice, enough to resound through the air and above the clouds. It was so loud, that a travelling merchant near the town entrance could vaguely hear the child's screams.

A black aura appeared around his body, but not much, as he could still walk towards a small building with an innocent look. Like an old, defeated little man, he entered the place and sat down at the nearest table. Little did he know that a heated game was commencing next to his table…

* * *

Royal Straight Flush…Full House…sorry, I was busy remembering what he usually got. You know, what the boy usually uses to trump his opponents. I'm sure it was the Royal Straight Flush…I'll have to see him play again.

Now, about the game, I'm sure you know what it is. Then again, Allen didn't actually know until he saw it…

* * *

He was intrigued. Not much, but to a point where he'd stare at the speed and dexterity of the players. How they arranged their decks. How they managed to win so easily, and lose everything in just a few minutes after. How they shouted out a simple word that meant so much. And all that _money_, lying peacefully on the table, without a care to whoever won or lost, staring back at him with dull emptiness. What else could he expect from an inanimate object?

Without thinking, he crept carefully, but quickly, towards that very table. Outstretched hand twitched and prepared to grab a handful of coins. Shining eyes examined the gross amount of gold and the people who possessed them: back and forth.

On the last second, a large hand grabbed his smaller one and raised him above the table, until two pairs of eyes confronted each other. One had a determined look, while the other had an angered one.

"Who do you think you are, barging in our game and stealing our money!?" A voice came from the owner of the larger hand; it was a heavily-built man with a short brown beard, perhaps in his forties or so.

Being the naïve boy he was (and still is), he simply stated the truth.

"Allen Walker."

Silence engulfed the atmosphere. Then a chuckle emerged, followed by the sudden bursts of laughter from all of the people surrounding him. Even the one who held him laughed heartily. Allen tilted his head slightly, a bit embarrassed.

_What did I do wrong _this_ time!?_

An unexpected smile formed on the previously angry man. He patted the boy's head and sighed. "I like a kid with guts." He lowered the boy down and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, kid. Name's Tack."

Suddenly, everyone sitting at that table introduced themselves to a very puzzled Allen.

"I'm Jared." He was an old man, who had several strands of white hair like Allen. His face was wrinkled, but not so much.

"Call me Al." This one was a brown-skinned man, just a few centimetres shorter than Jared. He had a distinguishable Indian accent which sounded pleasantly foreign.

"And I'm Cain." The last person who spoke was a young woman, probably the youngest in the group. She was a normal-looking one: not blindingly beautiful, nor was she extremely ugly.

"Nice to meet you," was all that Allen could say after the brief moment.

"So, why did you want our money, anyway? You don't look like one of those beggar boys," Tack started, clearly confused of the boy's appearance. His white hair was a bit acceptable, but the red scar that ran down his left eye was just plain disturbing…and sad.

"I need it to pay my- " He paused and shuddered. "Master's debts."

"Your 'Master' makes you pay _his_ debts?"

"Just recently."

"That's…cruel."

Allen nodded in agreement to that.

* * *

This is getting long…but I assure you, I'm almost done. Just listen to me a few more minutes.

He really had a good heart, and he'd never attempt to steal money from the people that opened up their hearts to him. So he just accepted the fact that he was penniless and hung out with the quartet instead.

* * *

For the rest of the time he was given, Allen never did do anything at all, except follow the four kind gamblers and occasionally play with them. The quartet was amused at the much younger boy's actions; he was a natural clown, they'd say: always succeeding in making them smile and laugh.

In return for his enjoyable presence, they taught him how to play their favourite pastime. You should've known by now what it was…

Poker.

All their skills were given to the joyful Allen for the rest of the two days. Fortunately, he already knew a few games, since his previous circus experiences taught him how to. And he also had several tricks up his sleeve.

Gradually, the short practice sessions became serious competitions to see who the best was. They enjoyed the company; it was more than just a game. To them, it was like family.

But as time passed, so does the time limit.

"We'll see you tomorrow, kid!" The quartet waved goodbye just as night turned to day. Allen waved in return and smiled. He had never had friends like that before except for _him_. That person that he loved dearly.

And then he saw those people again. They came, about ten or so, this time determined to get their promised money, whether the boy had it or not.

They could always sell him in the black market.

"Where's the money, brat!?"

_I forgot about this…_

Backing away, Allen shook his head in a gesture that said "I don't have any". He prayed to God to spare his short-lived life. Unfortunately for him, he'd run out of chances.

"Then we'll just have to sell you or something like that- "

The world just turned from worse to extremely dangerous for one unfortunate Allen Walker. With a desperate face, he threw aside his pride and pleaded for mercy.

_Failure number one._

And then he tried to make a break for it. Until he saw three men from the same group blocking the way out.

_Failure number two._

His last resort was to fight his way out. Facing more than a dozen adults armed with weapons.

_Complete and utter failure._

Shifting his gaze everywhere, sweating profoundly, avoiding stares were the things that Allen did in extreme anxiety. He had nowhere left to run, nowhere left to go. With a last salute to his deprived life, he embraced his fate with a pack of cards. Huh?

Right…about that, he was still holding the cards he used to play with the quartet. An idea formed inside his mind: small, but there was a possibility that it could work.

He took out the cards and shuffled them with great expertise. Opening his mouth, brave words came out of his mouth. "If I beat you guys at poker, will you erase the debt?"

They laughed, all right. They laughed till they could laugh no more.

"If that happens, I won't only do that; I'll give you all the money I have right now!"

This was his chance; his last resort to staying alive. He just had to get them to play.

"As if a damn brat like you could win!"

One muscle popped out of Allen's forehead.

"A damn brat? He's not even worth to be called that!"

Two.

"He's even worse than a dog! Not worth enough to play with!"

A dozen more.

And he snapped.

"Are you saying that you're afraid that I'll beat you fair and square?"

This time, the dark aura stayed and grew; it wasn't just a stick-on, it was a part of Allen. It _was_ Allen. It was the creation…of Dark Allen.

"You- alright, then! Let's see if you can win!"

And so began a simple game of cards.

* * *

This is why you never challenge Allen Walker in poker.

You'll never know what he has in store.

* * *

"Call!"

A few minutes later resulted in about a dozen or so men staring in disbelief at the cards that lay open in front of the grinning boy.

"I-impossible…"

"H-how could he beat us so easily…?"

In front of their eyes was the boy they had underestimated before: Allen Walker, with a large grin; and a perfect set of cards that formed the elusive Royal Straight Flush (I'm sure this time).

He had won. Square, but not quite fair. He used the tricks he learned (actually, all of them because he snapped anyway) and creamed the competition instantly.

Poker face active, he grabbed all of the dumbfounded men's money and a written statement saying that the debt was completely erased. He grinned once more before grabbing his cards and stuffing them inside his right pocket.

"Nice to have met you."

He left the stage.

* * *

And my moral: never underestimate the power of Dark Allen. Or else you'll be sorry.

You want to know what happened to him afterwards, right? Well, Cross came and took all of his earned money, so he challenged him in a game of poker. Too bad he wasn't on Dark Mode, so Cross beat him instantly and beat him up (literally) as well.

---

Thus concludes my tale. It wasn't so bad, was it?

And you thought he was just a naïve boy.

Let's go and play another round now- Ah, it's too late now.

Oh, you're asking how I know all about the story? It's not that hard to explain.

I'm always with Allen, you know.

…Ahaha, I'm not a stalker. Maybe someone who follows him, but definitely not a stalker.

Look at the time! I've got to go now.

I hope to see you again someday. We can play another round of poker.

Goodbye.

_

* * *

The storyteller __departed_

_A smile playing on his lips_

_As he returned_

_To where he belonged_

_Always by the child's side  
_

_His dear son._

_

* * *

_

That concludes my story. Hope you enjoyed it. Sorry if it was rushed.

And thanks very much if you review it.

...Don't tell me you don't know who the narrator is!

I'll assume you know.

1/3/09


End file.
